A New Beginning
by Yasu Uchiha
Summary: Erik gave up on life after Christine. He had no reason, now that his Angel was gone. Or... did he? Salvation in the shape of a hot-headed orphan girl found him, and Erik Had his New Beginning. ALW/Leroux/Kay.
1. A New Angel

**This is an odd mix of ALW, Leroux, and Kay's Phantoms, all rolled up in one. So... bear with me. I own not the Phantom or the Opera House that goes with him, nor the de Chagnys, if and when they make their appearance. But dear little Margeaux's mine, and her daddy gets a little... crazy when people take her. So, you should get permission first. That out of the way~ Enjoy!**

He glanced around, making certain he was alone. Satisfied he took off his mask, tipping his face to the sun.

"Hey, m'sieur? Your face looks funny."

His eyes flew open, quickly replacing his mask. He looked down at the little girl. "Where did you come from, ma petite?"

The little girl pointed behind her.

"You had best go back, then; your mother is probably worried about you."

She shook her head, looking at her feet. She scuffed the ground with her toe. "Dun have a mum. Or a dad."

He knelt down. The little girl looked up at him, meeting his eyes unflinchingly. This little cherub-faced girl, with curly red hair and bright green eyes, had no parents, and probably no family, judging by the state of her clothing. She looked like she belonged to an orphanage, and wouldn't be missed. "Do you want a family?"

The little girl nodded shyly. "Will you give me one?"

He nodded. Standing, he offered his hand. "Come with me."

She took his hand, tiny fingers wrapping around one of his. "You have long fingers. Do you play the piano-forte?"

"I do," he responded, wrapping the rest of his hand around her tiny one.

"I _love_ the piano-forte! I've always wanted to play one!"

"What is your name, ma cherie?"

"Maggie. Marguerite. Marguerite Ayesha." She looked up at him. "What's yours?"

"Erik Destler."

"Can I have your last name?"

His heart swelled for this little girl. "If you want it."

Her smile melted him. "Maggie Destler." She giggled. "I like it!"

"Do you like the name Maggie?"

She smiled sadly. "I can't have the other nickname. The other one's for people who can afford it."

"Do you know how much money I have?"

"More than me?"

"A _lot_ more. You can afford the nickname Margeaux. Do you want it?"

"Margeaux Destler. I love it!" She tossed her free arm around him. "Thank you, Erik!" She kissed his hand.

A tear slid down his cheek under his mask. This little girl didn't even know him, yet the simple knowledge that she had a pretty nickname and a last name made her impossibly happy. She loved him already, such a simple, pure love that she felt the pain of loosing Christine dissolve and fade away. He picked Margeaux up, hugging her gently.

She squealed happily, wrapping her arms around his neck and resting her head on his shoulder. "Are you my daddy now?"

"Do you want me to be?"

She closed her eyes, nodding.

"Then I can be your daddy, Margeaux."

She smiled, kissing the cheek of his mask. "I love you, daddy Erik."

With a trembling hand, he stroked her hair as she fell asleep. "I love you too, ma petite Margeaux."

**I'm sorry. I had to. Erik... I love him, see, and all this unhappy endings for him made me have to write him a happy ending. Margeaux was perfect. But don't worry - Erik will fid out soon enough raising a girl isn't all sugar and spice and everything nice. Heheh, my parents learned that right quick once I became a teen, and Margeaux's not gonna be much better. Review, please! I love y'all!**


	2. Home

**And I bring you chapter 2. I still own naught of the Phantom world. Enjoy.**

Nadir was waiting on the lakeside, as Erik expected. He seemed surprised to see Erik still alive, even more so to see the young girl in his arms. "You stole a child?"

"She came to me. Willingly. She is an orphan, Daroga. She has no family."

"She deserves a better life than this, Erik."

Margeaux shifted in his arms, rubbing her eyes. "I wanna stay with daddy Erik." She lifted her head from his shoulder and glared at Nadir. "Why would you make me go back if I'm happy?"

"Go back where?"

Margeaux buried her face in Erik's shoulder and mumbled something unintelligible.

"What was that, ma petite?" Erik asked softly.

"Th'orphanage." She looked up at him, her eyes wet with tears. "They… They…. Please!" she sobbed.

Erik laid her head back on his shoulder and glared at Nadir. "No, no, ma petite, you will stay."

Margeaux hiccupped. "Promise?" she asked, turning her head to meet his eyes.

"No. She cannot stay here, Erik!" Nadir insisted.

"Promise," Erik whispered.

She beamed and kissed his cheek again. She turned to look at Nadir. "Who's he?"

"This is Nadir. He is a Daroga in Persia."

"He's from Persia?"

"Yes he is."

"Have you been to Persia, Daddy?"

"Yes. I have."

"Can I go?"

Erik hesitated. "We'll see, ma petite."

She smiled at him.

"_Erik_," nadir stressed. "Might I speak to you... alone?"

Erik met his eyes. "To my home then." He climbed into the boat, waiting for Nadir to do the same. Nadir hesitated. "You have been inside my home before, Daroga. I have no need to hide it from you anymore."

Nadir clambered into the boat, lacking Erik's easy grace. Once they reached the opposite bank, Erik said to Margeaux, "Let me show you to your room, ma cherie."

"I have my own room?" She clapped her small hands happily. "Oh, thank you, Daddy! Is it close to yours?"

"Yes, cherie, it is."

He carried her to a large, opulent room and set her on the bed. She crawled up to the pillows, curling up at the very top, looking like a doll. Her wide eyes took in her surroundings. "This is all mine?" she whispered."

"All yours," he promised. "Now, sleep, ma petite."

"I can't. Sing to me?" She rested her head on a pillow, pleading with large green eyes.

Erik sat on the bed and sang a soft hymn. Margeaux, eyes first bright with wonder, started drifting, her eyes becoming heavy. Her eyes finally closed, her breathing even. Erik finished the song and gently stroked Margeaux's hair. He stood, silently withdrawing.

"What are you doing?" Nadir insisted.

Erik quickly shushed him. "Not here... you'll wake Margeaux." He led Nadir away. "I've given her a home. Is that bad?" he glanced back at the room Margeaux slept in. "You heard her fear of her orphanage."

"She's not a broken animal," Nadir responded. "You can't tuck her away until she's healed. She's a _child_, Erik."

"She loves Erik," he said stubbornly. "Erik will take care of her. Do you doubt me?"

Nadir flinched at the memory of his son. "No," he murmured, "I don't doubt you."

**Nadir won't be in very often, but he was required for this... reviews, please? And be nice. Or be gutsy and tack your name to it. Or be both, that works too... Love y'all!**


	3. A Deal

When Margeaux finally awoke, Erik was playing a soft lullaby on the organ. Nadir had been gone for several hours. Margeaux padded into the room, eyes wide with wonder from the music Erik was playing. "Daddy Erik?" she whispered.

Erik turned his head to acknowledge her, fingers still flying over the keys of the pipe organ. He wasn't wearing his mask. "Yes, cherie?"

Margeaux clambered up onto the bench, then his lap. She didn't mind his face at all, it seemed - she was just happy to be with him. Erik played around her, reveling in the warmth of her small body. He gently kissed the back of her head. "Daddy, Can I learn how to play like that?"

Erik laughed softly. One day, ma petite, you will be able to play better than I."

Margeaux clapped her hands happily. She sat quietly on his lap for a while longer, listening to him play and watching his fingers. She put one of her small hands on the back of one of his, marveling at the speed and grace with which he played. They were interrupted by the loud gurgling of Margeaux's stomach. She blushed scarlet.

"You are hungry, cherie?" Erik asked.

Margeaux nodded sheepishly. "I came in here to tell you... but I forgot. I like music," she explained.

Erik laughed softly. "Come with me, Margeaux. I will prepare us food."

Margeaux giggled and slid off his lap, taking his hand as he led her to the kitchen. While he had extensive supplies, he never properly learned to use them, always preferring to buy something pre-made instead. He never had the time, he justified, with his music taking up so much if it.

Margeaux giggled happily as she watched Erik fumble around the kitchen. It was a graceful fumble, but a fumble nonetheless. "Daddy Erik?" she said between giggles.

He turned to look at her. His heart melted at the sight of her face alight with laughter. "Yes, Margeaux?"

She giggled again. "If you teach me how to play the piano-forte, I'll teach you how to cook."

"You know how to cook?"

Margeaux nodded, small hand pressed to her lips to stifle her giggles.

He lifted her to the counter, setting her down on the edge. "Then we have a deal."

She laughed merrily, clapping her hands. She kissed him on the cheek before directing him how to prepare breakfast.

**Time skip coming up... It would take far too long to write out Margeaux's story all the way out to her teen years, and that's when the story gets... interesting. Stay tuned, mes amis!**


	4. Time Passed

Little Margeaux quickly grew into a young woman, cared for and doted upon by her Daddy Erik. She learned to sing and play, her angelic voice echoing through the trap doors of the opera house. As she grew older, she took cold pride in the devoted protection of her "daddy Erik", becoming immune to his fits of dark rage. At a young age, she became famous at the Opera Populaire, starting as a ballet-girl and quickly rising through the ranks. Once of age, she took on the parts that la Carlotta abandoned - suspiciously - at Margeaux's rise to fame. She quickly wormed her way into the hearts of many, especially her managers, MM. Richard and Moncharmin.

_"I'm afraid, my dear, that there are no personal dressing-rooms available," M. Richard had said once Margeaux had started singing._

_"Oh, it's no problem at all, monsieur," she responded sweetly. "But, certainly there's the one the great Mademoiselle Daaé left behind?"_

_The managers glanced at each other. "You would be willing to take on her room?"_

_"Of course! If it's no problem to you, Messieurs..."_

_"No problem! No problem at all, my dear child!" M. Moncharmin said excitedly. "If you want it, it is yours!"_

_Margeaux smiled at the managers. "Merci mille fois, Messieurs!"_

When she started, the critics ate her up. She was widely adored, and constantly pursued. The secrecy of her home life added to the intrigue, constantly speculated upon. Even more intriguing was every evening after her performances, a single yellow rose would be on her vanity table.

Margeaux was almost as famous for her taste in men - almost every other week, she would be on the arm of another, each darker and colder than the last. She absolutely fawned over them, though; especially a certain Javert Carrière. Erik did not approve, but he was loath to tell his precious girl that, not when she was so happy with them.

Meanwhile, the legend of the Phantom of the Opera dwindled down from a constant horror to a scary story meant to frighten the young ballet girls into obedience. With Margeaux now in the spotlight and the Phantom once more relegated to the shadows, little Margeaux Destler had everything a young woman of her talent could want - _and she knew it._

She even talked her daddy Erik into letting her deconstruct several of the priceless jewelry pieces he still had from his days in Persia. A diamond cat collar became a stunning necklace; a couple of tiny rubies and a worse-for-wear gold bracelet became a pair of earrings. Only Nadir, who visited rarely, recognized them, but he knew better than to voice displeasure against Erik's dearest Margeaux.


	5. Heartbreak

One night, after the performance, Margeaux sat at her vanity, brushing out her long, copper curls. She was proud of her act - she'd played her part well, the perfect Juliet to a pale in comparison Romeo. The emotions she portrayed were so real, so believable, that any lingering doubt of her talent evaporated. She knew her beau was in the audience too, and hoped he would be happy about her success.

She smiled at the single yellow rose in the slim glass vase, knowing more was waiting for her in her room - she hoped something expensive. She glanced at the time and then at the mirror - Erik should be arriving soon. She set her brush down, wiping away her stage makeup. Satisfied, she tightened her robe belt, turning to stand.

The door to her dressing room was flung open.

Margeaux's eyes lit up. "Javert!" she said happily. "I wasn't expecting you. So? How did you like the performance?"

Eyes cold and stormy, Javert slammed the door shut behind him. He took two angry, purposeful strides toward her. Grabbing a fistful of hair, he yanked her to her feet. She cried out in pain, trying to pull away from his grip.

"You worthless _bitch_," he snarled, the back of his hand crashing across her face.

The force of his slap sent her sprawling to the floor, a bruise forming on her cheekbone, her lip split. "Javert," she sobbed. "Why...?"

"Is he your lover?" he snarled. "Have you been sleeping with him?" he looked to her vanity, hefting the vase. "Is this from him?" he threw the vase and rose at her, the glass shattering just in front of her. The shards sliced through her thin robe, nicking her skin. "You are _mine_, girl. Mine and no one else's. Remember that." She cringed as he took a menacing step forward.

The room went black, every candle extinguished at once. "How _dare_ you touch my daughter in such a manner?" a dark, angry voice boomed.

The lights returned, and Javert was gone. A shadow swept forward, approaching Margeaux.

She flinched, cowering away. "Please don't be angry, Daddy," she whimpered.

"No, no, ma belle, I am never angry with you. I will never hurt you like that," Erik assured her. He helped her to her feet, quickly assessing her injuries. Noticing the girl was unsteady on her feet, he scooped her up and carried her through the mirror, disappearing to the house on the lake.

Erik laid Margeaux on the couch before the organ, quickly tending to her wounds. She wasn't badly hurt - it was more shock and disappointment than physical pain. The cuts from the glass were shallow and easily bandaged, and he spread a salve over the forming bruise on her cheek and eye. He cleaned her split lip, spreading a salve over that as well, to keep it from scarring.

Her clear green eyes were clouded with fear and tears. "I'm sorry, Daddy Erik," she whispered, her voice trembling.

The pain in her voice broke his heat. "It's not your fault, cherie. You're young. You're allowed to make mistakes."

She closed her eyes, a tear sliding down her cheek. He wiped it away. "I should have listened to you. I feel so... _worthless_."

A dark rage overtook him at those words. "No one is allowed to make you feel that way, Margeaux. Everyone who does will pay dearly."

Margeux nodded. "Daddy? ... I love you."

"Je t'aime aussi, ma chou." He gently stroked her hair before turning to leave. "Get some rest, cherie."

The dark rage that had been at bay while he was with Margeaux descended and he started constructing a new device that would have made the khanum proud.

XxXxX

Javert awoke to find himself trussed and gagged. The gag was a thin cloth gag, thick enough to muffle his voice, but thin enough for him to breathe through - barely. A man in a dark cloak was working around him, building some sort of lever-pulley contraption. Javert squirmed, trying to loosen the knots.

"I see you are awake," a cold voice said.

Javert flinched - it was the same voice he'd heard in Margeaux's dressing-room.

"You have the misfortune of sharing the name of my first kill, Javert," the icy voice continued. "That, along with what you did to my daughter..." the cloaked man turned to face him, his face obscured my a mask. "You will pay for that. _No one _handles ma fille in such a disrespectful manner." He lashed a rope around Javert's ankles, standing back as his contraption did its work.

Erik took a seat, his face cold and angry. He watched as Javert struggled while he was suspended headfirst over the lake. Erik slowly lowered him until the water closed over his nose. Javert froze, struggling to breathe through the cloth gag. After a moment, Javert yanked himself up, struggling against his binds to hold himself out of the water. A cold, sadistic smile spread across Erik's face as the rope went slack and Javert was plunged into the cold water. The dark rage remained in Erik's catlike eyes, but his smile spread as his contraption did its work.

After a few hours of this continuing, Javert had exhausted himself and was gasping for breath. He no longer had the breath to scream, and the blood vessels in his head looked near bursting. A manic, sadistic grin about split Erik's face as he slackened the rope once more. Javert splashed into the water, struggling frantically for several moments before finally going still. Erik lifted him from the water one last time. At the end of the rope, Javert Carrière was dead.

XxXxX

Erik returned to see Margeaux sitting at the organ, her fingers gliding nearly effortlessly over the keys. She was singing softly along with the melody, a strange, haunting tune that sent shivers down his spine. He recognized the emotions in the song, even though he'd never heard the song before, and he despaired to see those emotions coming from his beloved daughter. He came up behind her, resting a hand on her shoulder.

Her fingers stilled, her voice stopping. She turned to look at him. "I trusted him," she whispered brokenly.

Erik sat next to her, pulling her against him. She sobbed into his chest, disheartened and crushed. He stroked her hair, gently kissing her temple. He wished there was more he could do.

"Is he dead?" Javert was not the first Erik had killed for her - she could only expect him to be dead after what had occured in her dressing-room.

Erik nodded silently.

Margeaux rested her head on his shoulder, curling up in his lap like she used to when she was much younger. She wiped her eyes and pulled his cloak around her.

Erik pulled a plain gold ring from an inner pocket, taking Margeaux's right hand and sliding it on the ring finger. Margeaux looked at the ring and then Erik curiously. "Wear this ring for me, ma belle. It will keep you safe from those who wish to do you harm."

Margeaux nodded, curling against him and drifting to sleep in his arms.

**Change of perspective in the next chapter... I'll leave it to you to figure out who the story is focused on then.**


	6. Visiting the Opera

Giovanni smiled when Charles' mother opened the door. "Gio!" she said happily. "I am so glad you could make it. Come in, come in!"

Giovanni picked up his luggage, entering the elaborate house. "Thank you for inviting me along, Madame," he said politely, calling the woman by her native French honorific.

"No problem, Gio, no problem at all. He told me how much you love architect, and you haven't seen anything until you've seen the Opera House of Paris." She turned to the stairs. "Charles!" She called up. "Come along now, your father is getting impatient. Giovanni's here!"

"_Un moment, maman_!" the young boy called back down from his room.

Giovanni smiled. "I'll get him," the eighteen-year-old offered.

"Oh, thank you, Gio," she responded, smiling warmly.

Giovanni took the steps two at a time, quickly coming to Charles' room. He found the ten-year-old boy staring mournfully at a nearly full suitcase and a pile of books. Giovanni laughed, swinging his sack off his shoulder. "Here, Charles. Half in yours, half in mine."

Charles grinned widely at Giovanni. "Thanks, Gio! You're the best ever!" He started loading as many books as he could into his luggage, loading the rest in Giovanni's rucksack. "Be careful with those," he said solemnly, his blue eyes very serious.

Giovanni grinned, nodding. "Of course, Char. When am I ever not?"

"Charles!" his father called up. "Come on now, we need to get going!"

"_Nous venons, Papa_!" Charles responded. He almost always spoke French to his parents, and Giovanni was slowly learning. At the blank look on his face, though, Charles laughed and translated, "We're coming."

"Aah. Thanks, Char."

Charles smiled, picking up his luggage and hauling it back down the steps. Giovanni followed, making sure the boy had everything.

"Hello, Giovanni," Charles' father greeted.

"Hello, Monsieur," Giovanni responded. He picked up his luggage as well as the rest of Charles' mother's before following Charles out and loading it into the carriage.

"_Merci_, Gio!" Charles' mother called.

"_De rien_, Madame," Giovanni responded. This family was his second family, and his very social Italian family all but forced him to go with them to Paris. He was glad to go - he'd heard stories about the Opera Garnier, and was thoroughly excited to go.

"Having you here will certainly help Charles," his father murmured as they loaded the carriage. "He can't seem to stop talking about you."

Giovanni grinned. "I'm fairly fond of the young chap myself, Monsieur. It's nothing for me to spend time with him, if you need."

Charles' father turned to help his wife into the carriage. "This really means everything to us, Gio," she said warmly, clasping his hand.

"I can steer the carriage, Monsieur," Giovanni offered.

"I wanna sit up with Giovanni!" Charles said excitedly.

Charles' father laughed. "Certainly, certainly."

Charles whooped with joy, clambering up into the driver's seat. Giovanni closed the carriage door on Charles' parents before joining Charles. "So, Monsieur de Chagny," Giovanni said, taking on an affected air, "Where to?"

"The Opéra Garnier, Monsieur, and make it quick," Charles responded, laughing.

**Didn't see that coming, did you? Heheheh...**


	7. An Old Angel

Margeaux sat preening in front of her vanity mirror, waiting as the dressing-girl did her hair for her next entrance. She was already in most of her costume; she simply had to wait until she was called back on stage. Once her hair was done, she dismissed the dressing-girl and called softly, "Daddy?"

The murmured response was immediate.

"Daddy, there's a very nice looking man in box five, with a younger boy and two adults. Can you find out who he is for me, please? I think I'd like to get to know him a bit better."

"Certainly, ma belle," Erik responded smoothly. "I shall be back by your return from the stage."

"Merci, Daddy!" Margeaux said happily, standing to put the rest of her costume on.

Erik wound through the labyrinthine passages to his old entrance to box five. He heard the whispered conversation between the young boy and the male who caught Margeaux's attention.

"Shhhhh, Gio, look! It's the girl again!"

A muffled laugh. "Yes, Charles, so it is. Have you taking a liking to the beautiful soprano?"

"No," the young boy said smugly, "but you have."

"Charles!" the older one said sharply.

The two adults chuckled softly. "She reminds le of you when you were performing, Christine," the older man said to his wife.

Erik's blood ran cold at the voice and the name. "De Chagny," he breathed before he could think on it.

"Did you hear that?" the woman whispered.

"Christine, my dear, you're jumpy from being back. Erik is no more."

"Christine..." Erik moaned, feeling the pain of loosing her again for the first time since Margeaux found him.

"_He's here, Raoul!_" Christine gasped.

"Really, my dear, had I known you would start hearing things again, I would not have recommended this trip," Raoul responded.

The two younger ones were not paying the adults the slightest bit of attention. "Giovanni," Charles said, "what do you like most about the singer?"

"Oh, Charles, I cannot tell you!" the elder boy said, laughing softly. "There is nothing I can tell you, for I do not know the girl. She is beautiful, I'll grant her that, and her voice is one that even the angels' would be envious of, but I do not _know_ her. She could be a vapid, shallow girl, or a self-righteous prick. I could not tell you what exactly attracts me to her until I get to know her on a personal level."

Hearing Giovanni's words - even if the name sent slivers of pain through his heart - made him proud of his daughter, and respectful of the boy. He would not mind Margeaux getting to know this boy, save for the painful company he keeps. Deciding to sacrifice himself for Margeaux, and not for the first time, he returned to her dressing room to tell her the information he'd gathered.

XxXxX

Christine grabbed Raoul's hand, pointing. "Look! Look at her right hand. The ring... _that ring_... it's the ring Erik gave me! I know it!"

"Christine, you really _must_ stop overreacting," Raoul said as Margeaux took her exit. "The man is dead. The Daroga told us that."

"Monsieur Daroga told us that Erik _as we knew him_ was no more. That does not mean he is dead! Raoul, the girl is in terrible danger if _he_ has taken a liking to her!"

"Christine, you _must_ let this go. Perhaps the young girl found the ring in the explorations of the Opera house. I've heard the girl never seems to leave the place - no one knows who her parents are."

Christine, angered by the resurgence of the self-centered, unbelieving man her husband used to be, fell into a sullen silence until the end of the performance.

"_Maman_," Charles said, "Gio and I are going to meet the Soprano lady."

"Yes, I believe you should. Your father and I will catch up with you, alright?" Christine responded.

Charles cackled happily, dashing off through the halls. Giovanni followed at a more respective pace, bowing and smiling at the ladies whom he passed.

"Giovanni, hurry, hurry!" Charles said, laughing. "If you don't, some other rogue will get to your soprano first!"

"Charles, you're mad," Giovanni responded. "You just want the girl to yourself, don't you?"

"No, She's too old for me," Charles responded, wrinkling his nose.

"But not for me, eh?" Giovanni asked, laughing.

"There she is!" Charles said excitedly, tugging at Giovanni's sleeve. Giovanni paused to pick one simple, white rose bud with red tips, paying the rose vendor. He swept off after Charles, who had cleared a path straight to Margeaux in the singers' foyer. Giovanni bowed to her, offering the rose. "_Brava_, Mademoiselle," he murmured. "Your performance was spectacular."

Margeaux accepted the rose, blushing prettily. She curtsied in return. "_Merci_, Monsieur," she murmured. "I am very glad you enjoyed it."

"Perhaps, when you are free one evening, I could find you here and take you out for a dinner?" Giovanni asked, not in the least bit shy.

Margeaux pressed her fingers to her lips, giggling. "Monsieur, I do not know your name," she protested.

"Ah, yes, indeed." Giovanni took her hand, pressing her knuckles to his lips. "My name is Giovanni Martelli, Mademoiselle, at your service."

Margeaux giggled again. "it is nice to make your acquaintance, Monsieur Martelli."

"Giovanni, Mademoiselle, please."

"Certainly, Giovanni." She blushed deeper. "I am Margeaux Destler."

"A pleasure, Margeaux." He released her hand. "Tomorrow night, then, Mademoiselle Destler? I shall find you here, after your performance?"

Margeaux nodded. "I will have to ask my father, but... yes. Tomorrow night." She smiled at him. "Until then... Giovanni."

He returned her smile. "Until then, Margeaux."

"Beautiful performance, Mademoiselle!" Christine said, approaching them. "Forgive my impertinence, chérie, but... where did you get that ring? It is beautiful."

Margeaux stroked the gold band thoughtfully. "It was given to me by a very wonderful man, as a protective measure. I had an abusive suitor, you see, and the man who gave this ring to me promised that as long as I wear it, no harm from another will befall me." She smiled softly. "He is very important to me, Madame - I would not be where I am without him."

Christine went very pale, but Margeaux didn't notice. Smiling shyly to Giovanni, she murmured, "I shall see you tomorrow then?"

"Of course."

She curtsied, murmuring her excuse, and swept off through the corridors to her dressing-room.

"I shall return in a moment," Christine murmured, disappearing after the girl. She watched the girl go to the room she once called her own, closing the door behind her. She listened carefully to the girl inside.

Margeaux laughed happily, putting the rose bud from Giovanni into the crystal vase next to the yellow rose from Erik. "Oh, he's _amazing,_" she gushed.

"I am happy for you, ma petite," Erik responded.

"I'm going to dinner with him tomorrow after the performance," Margeaux continued, wiping off the stage make up. She slid out of the upper layers of her costume before drawing her robe around her. "If that's okay, of course," she added as an afterthought.

"Certainly, certainly," Erik assured her. "Have fun with Monsieur Giovanni."

Margeaux laughed happily. "_Merci_, Daddy Erik!" She said. the mirror swung open, and Margeaux disappeared beyond it.

Christine turned away, very pale indeed. She was about to leave when a voice whispered in her hear, "_So you've returned to my opera house, Mademoiselle Daaé. I hope you find all is well, here in your old home. Your Angel still has room for you in his heart... should you wish to stay._"

Christine fled down the corridor, as far away from the persuasive voice in her ear, trying to ignore the tantalizing promise of her Phantom.

**I really don't like Raoul... just sayin'...**


	8. Old Fears

Margeaux was giggling madly as she dashed to her dressing-room after the curtain call. "Hurry, hurry!" she cried to her maid, struggling out of her costume and into a nice dress. She tried not to squirm as the dressing-girl laced up her corset and helped her into the gown. She dismissed the girl and pressed a kiss to the mirror. "He should be here soon, Daddy," she whispered excitedly.

She stepped away from the mirror as it swung open. Erik pulled her into his arms. "Have fun, ma cherie," he murmured. "When do you think you shall be returning?"

She shook her head, breathless with excitement. "I don't know. But I'll come in on the Rue Scribe side, alright, Daddy?" She flashed the key she wore on a ribbon around her neck before tucking it back into her bosom.

He nodded slowly. "Be careful, ma belle. I'll wait for you. If you need anything..."

"Of course, Daddy." Margeaux grinned brightly and kissed his cheek. "Bye, Daddy Erik!" she exclaimed, turning and dashing from the room.

"Good bye, ma petite Margeaux." He turned away from the room, the mirror swinging closed behind him. He sighed, unable to leave the mirror. He didn't want to let his little girl go, but it was time to.

He tensed as the door edged open. "Erik?" a soft voice whispered. "I know you're here. I heard you, in your box. I heard you outside the door when I was worried about Marguerite. You're still here, aren't you? You're not dead. And she... she's wearing your ring."

He slid his mask back on – he'd gotten so used to Margeaux not caring about his appearance that the feel of his mask again was almost foreign. "What do you want, Daae? Are you here to stay, or simply tease me?" Erik growled. He turned in time to see Christine flinch at his rough voice. The fear in her eyes was enough to pierce his heart. He never meant her harm...

"Let her go, Erik. Doesn't she deserve a real life, not one relegated to the shadows like you've lived?"

Erik saw red at that. He opened the mirror, storming out. "Erik takes good care of his Margeaux! She wants for _nothing_!" he snapped. "Margeaux is well protected, and _she loves Erik_!"

"_I_ loved you."

Those words were like a slap to the face. Erik stumbled back, as if it had been an honest physical blow. He sank into a chair. "You never loved me. You would have stayed."

Christine took a few steps closer. "I _loved_ you, Erik. But I loved Raoul as well. I couldn't choose..."

Erik turned his face away from her. "Stop." That one word held years of pain.

Christine froze.

His hands clenched, Erik decided to go for a killing blow. His voice cold, he said, "Margeaux has no family other than me, Madame de Chagny."

Christine flinched – it was the first time since she'd returned to the Opéra Garnier that he'd recognized her marriage to Raoul.

"I would ask you not to take her away from me, Madame. She is well protected and has been spoiled her entire life. I have never and _will_ never hurt her, and ask around the _corps de ballet_ – no one lives to hurt her either. Among the ballet demoiselles, the mythos of _l'Fantôme de l'Opéra_ is still strong. And should _anyone_ harm petite Margeaux Destler, he will not live to see the light of day again." He turned away, back to the mirror.

"But... you haven't killed anyone, have you? Not in a long time." She sounded like she was trying to reassure herself, and it amused Erik.

Erik's lips twisted into a dark smirk behind his mask. "While you speak with the ballet demoiselles, ask about Javert Carrière." He disappeared behind the mirror.

Terrified, Christine stumbled from the dressing-room, fleeing the opera house.

XxXxX

Much later that night, Margeaux fell giggling into her bed. She had already kissed Erik goodnight and listened to his lullaby on the piano-forte. She sighed happily, pulling the token Giovanni had given her out of her sleeve. It was a simple little thing, really, just a delicate white handkerchief with his initials sewn in, but she adored it anyway. She slid it carefully into the top drawer of her nightstand, next to the music she's written as a child under Erik's teaching. She giggled again, sliding out of her dress. '_I hope Daddy doesn't mind him sticking around..._' she thought to herself, before clambering into bed and letting Erik's music soothe her to sleep.

Halfway across town, Christine de Chagny paced her hotel room, annoyed at her husband and worried for Giovanni. He hadn't returned yet-

Just as the thought crossed her mind, the door quietly creaked open, the clicked shut. Giovanni was humming a soft melody that she instantly recognized. Christine went pale with terror. She gripped Giovanni's arm.

"Oh, I do apologize, Madame," he murmured. "I didn't mean to wake you."

She shook her head. "Be careful with that girl, Gio," she whispered to him. "She is not what she seems to be."

"I'm sorry, Madame? Margeaux seems to be a very nice, refined lady. Certainly a Parisian such as herself could not be hiding anything." His voice was warm. "Go on to bed, Madame, it is late. I am sorry for waking you." He turned away to the room he was sharing with Charles. "Oh, and Madame...? She said she would love to share tea with you this Saturday, as you asked."

**Now, what could Madame de Chagny want with our petite Margeaux? Find out! Sorry it's taken so long~!**


	9. Tea Time

Christine was relieved when she saw the slight girl enter the parlor. She was gorgeous, clear, impish green eyes and lightly curled copper hair. She had an air of magic about her, as if she'd spent a lot more time around Erik than Christine originally expected.

The older woman stood as Margeaux approached. Margeaux dropped into a quick curtsey. "Thank you for inviting me to tea, Madame de Chagny," she murmured, ever polite.

"Please, _cherie_, call me Christine. Your parents have taught you well, though." She smiled warmly as Margeaux sat.

Margeaux arranged her skirts, responding, "Just my father, actually. He adopted me when I was six, and I am always grateful for the life he's given me." She smiled softly.

The chatted lightly about life at the Opéra Garnier, something Christine knew a lot about. Christine and Margeaux hit it off instantly, chatting and laughing about the drama and politics of the ballet and the opera. When tea was coming to a close, though, Christine became apprehensive.

"Margeaux, _ma fille_, you know you don't have to listen to him..." she started.

Margeaux tensed. "To whom, Madame Christine?" She asked, her voice lightly chilled.

"_Him_, Margeaux. The Phantom. I know he's visited you..." She took Margeaux's right hand, gently stroking the gold band there. "It may be tempting, but there is _no escape_ from his grasp-"

Margeaux snatched her hand away from Christine's, standing. She brushed her skirts straight, tossing her hair over her shoulder. Jade eyes gleaming angrily, she snapped, "I will thank you, _Madame de Chagny_, to _not_ insult my father as such. He means nothing but good, and he has protected me and helped me achieve my childhood dreams. I would not be where I am without him, and I _will not stand for your insults!_" With that, Margeaux stormed from the building.

"Margeaux!" Giovanni fell into step beside her as she stormed out. "Margeaux, _cara_, what's wrong?"

Margeaux was mumbling under her breath, anger radiating off of her. "_La putain rouge n'a pas de droite de parler comme ça. De mon père!_" She made an aggravated sound.

"_Cara, cara,_ slow down!" Giovanni insisted, catching her by the arm. "What's wrong, _tessarina_? Tell me."

She shook her head. "Madame de Chagny said some things..."

"About your father, I caught that much. What happened?"

"She knew Daddy Erik, and she thought he was... thought he was going to take advantage of me. But Daddy's not like that. He would never. He loves me and wants to keep me safe. He was... in a bad place when Madame de Chagny met him, but we've saved each other. He's better now, and I have a family. For her to insinuate the things she did..." She glanced away, hands fisting in her skirts and tears filling her eyes.

"Oh, _bella_ _mia_..." He pulled her into his arms in a surprisingly tender gesture. She clung to him, trembling from the effort to keep back her tears. He stroked her hair gently, murmuring, "How about this. You come home with us, meet _la mia famiglia_, distress from your years on stage, spend some time on you? Mmmm? Can you agree to that, _cara_?"

She sniffed daintily. "I don't know if I can spend much more time with that... _woman_."

"For the sake fo your father's sanity, you may have to stay with her instead of with me. But I promise you, you will spend very little time around her. As little as possible." He cupped her face. "_Ça va_, Margeaux?"

She smiled softly. "_D'accord_."

He grinned widely. "Good. Now, go home, get permission from your father, pack up, and I'll meet you in your dressing-room after the final show tomorrow."

She couldn't help but smile back as she nodded.

He pressed a chaste kiss to her cheek before escorting her outside. "I'll see you tonight, _cara_."

"Until then, _cheri_."

"Until then."

XxXxX

Christine watched Margeaux flee from the building, an idea forming in her head. Erik was obviously still unstable, and the girl was blind to it. If she wouldn't leave of her own volition... well, Christine just might have to take matters into her own hands.

**Not particularly fond of Christine either... but hey. It'll be fun. I finally know how to finish this, so, as long as my muse doesn't shut up on me again, I should finish it by Chistmas. Thanks for reading~!**


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